Dagger in the Crown (Tam Eildor mystery no.1)

by Alanna Knight

  'What can I do for you, Tam?' She sounded a little impatient, a busy woman harassed by a hundred household tasks.

  'Alas, Dorothy, I must throw myself on your mercy. I have had a difference of opinion with Lady Buccleuch over some documents which were entrusted to my care. Two have gone a-missing.' He paused, shrugged significantly. 'Accusations have been levelled at me. It is intolerable. I am afraid I have walked out on Her Ladyship.'

  Dorothy regarded him solemnly, then said slowly, 'This is serious indeed. Where will you go?'

  Tam gave her his most endearing smile. 'I have no home in Edinburgh and no money either. I am utterly dependent on Lady Buccleuch's charity.'

  'I can offer you money.'

  'I could not accept money. But I would be most grateful for your hospitality.' Ignoring her sharp intake of breath, the refusal he felt was certain, he continued rapidly, 'I am certain that Lady Buccleuch will repent of her anger, given time to consider her ill-advised words. She has a hot temper but is forgiving by nature.' He paused, smiled. 'All I require, Dorothy, is a very temporary refuge - a day, at most two - until such time as her temper cools and I can appear in her house without some destructive object being again thrown at my head,' he added, touching his forehead and an unseen scar ruefully.

  Dorothy continued to watch him, her expression unreadable.

  'You are a good friend,' he said desperately, 'the only one I can turn to in my present grievous plight.'

  Recovering, she smiled, but sadly. 'You would be most welcome, Tam, but I am hourly expecting my sister Else for an extended visit.' She emphasized the last two words. 'I had a message only yesterday. She is most anxious to come to Edinburgh. There will not be beds enough in my little house—'

  'Dear Dorothy,' Tam interrupted eagerly, not wanting to let this opportunity slip. 'I promise not to be in your way. I can sleep anywhere. I am no stranger to hard floors.'

  He realized that she did not care for the idea, but by being so accommodating he had given her little option to refuse.

  'Then you had best come in.' A forced smile and she stood aside, allowing him to pass along the corridor into the room beyond. 'I shall be absent most of the day. After morning service at St Giles, I shall be visiting friends of Else's and, I shall wait with them for her arrival.' She paused. 'I trust you will manage on your own?'

  'I will indeed. My needs are slight and I am grateful indeed for your hospitality.'

  She held out a cool hand. 'It is the least I can do for my friend.'

  Watching her ride out, he climbed the stairs to an upper chamber with a vantage point overlooking the King's lodging and the salle with its vaults. Before settling down, he went through the sparsely furnished house and carried out a minute search for something that he felt sure should be present.

  His thoroughness was rewarded and, with a feeling of some satisfaction, he settled down to what promised to be a long and uncomfortable vigil. But one infinitely preferable, in tolerable comfort, to lurking about the chilly closes of St Mary's until nightfall.

  He had not long to wait before being alerted to activity from the two houses on either side of his lodging.

  Apparently not everyone went to church on Sunday, and about a dozen men, by their watchful

  attitudes obviously soldiers but in no sort of uniforms, moved constantly back and forth across the quadrangle to the lower regions of the house opposite.

  They did not take their horses, stabled in the mews behind the three houses where Dorothy kept her own horse, but went on foot. Each carried a large sack, trying with indifferent success to assume the look of tradesmen or artisans going about their legitimate business.

  Tam guessed that they were unlikely to be delivering their burdens in the servants' quarters and the busy kitchens on the floor below the Queen's bedroom. Their most likely destination was the salle with its vaults as it had been earlier for Archie with his delicate cartload of gunpowder.

  From his vantage point, the nearest house, also owned by Sir James Balfour's brother Robert, was the new Provost's House at the south-west corner. The lofty mansion of the Hamiltons was perhaps a hundred feet away, and beyond it, at an angle, stood the Douglases' house. Of these, only the roofs and upper floors were visible over high garden walls.

  At last his patience was rewarded by the sight of the royal party riding through the postern gate. Seizing his chance, he hurried down the stairs and across the quadrangle as they approached the courtyard.

  Before he could be challenged by the sentry, he was observed by Marie Seton, who waved him over and said, 'How good to see you, Tam. You received the message left for you at Lady Buccleuch's?'

  Tam murmured a reply which Marie didn't hear, bending over her horse's neck to keep him still. 'Her Grace wishes to have a word with you.'

  The Queen was dismounting when Tam went forward, bowed deeply.

  She smiled at him. 'Master Eildor, well met indeed. We are somewhat at a loss for entertainment for our poor invalid. He wearies of my reading. When Seton mentioned that you were at Beaton House, she suggested that you might sing for us.'

  Tam was delighted at the unexpected prospect of seeing the inside of the King's lodging.

  'While I am attending my husband's bath, may I leave you in good Seton's care?'

  Tam followed them through the salle, a long, narrow room that was a grander, more elegant version of the clergy's original receptory. A separate hall linked the west and east wings of the house and was joined by a turnpike stair which gave access to the two royal bedchambers, the lower the Queen's, the upper, as he learned from Seton, Lord Darnley's.

  As the Queen went ahead of them, Marie paused by a pleasant window with a gallery projecting to the south, resting on the city wall and looking across to Arthur's Seat.

  'Lord Darnley will allow no other than the Queen to handle him in his bath, a daily necessity for his present condition,' she added, repressing a shudder. 'He has so many other whims too, especially for furniture and ornaments that will hardly fit into this temporary lodging, which, by his command, had to be furnished as regally as Craigmillar. The fuss he made about a black velvet bed, saying he could not abide to sleep in it. He had to have the violet one, Her Grace's gift to him last summer, brought over especially from Holyrood.' She sighed. 'If you could see Her Grace's humble bedroom, down there.' She pointed back the way they had come. 'It is so tiny, with only a little green and yellow bed and a furred coverlet to keep her warm.'

  'Need she sleep here, with Holyrood so near?'

  'Lord Darnley insists upon it. The room is cold and damp. She is far from well and it will do her ill. But she insisted on pleasing him by staying here, although it so uncomfortable, and against all our wishes and entreaties.'

  She hesitated, as one in danger of saying too much, and Tam asked, 'For her health?'

  'Nay, Tam, for her safety,' she whispered and gave him a candid glance.

  'You think she might be in danger?'

  Marie nodded. 'We fear for her every moment she is out of our sight and under the King's roof. He refuses to allow her Maries, as he calls us, in attendance. Insists that our chatter disturbs him and makes his head ache. It isn't true, since Fleming is still on honeymoon and Livingstone is with her baby at present.' She shrugged. 'I am the only one he looks on favourably. Apparently I do not laugh loudly or a great deal, as he claims Beaton does. Not that I find anything to laugh about in this situation,' she added unhappily. 'But he tells Her Grace she may "bring the solemn one". Do you think me solemn?'

  'Not in the least,' said Tam.

  Marie shook her head. 'He is rather like a sick and spoilt child recovering from illness. He must have his own way in all things or he screams and yells and throws things. And curses our poor dear lady. It is intolerable.' She looked out of the window. 'And yet, as matters have worked out, we all have to agree that Kirk O'Field was a wise choice. Far enough from Holyrood and the city for the real nature of his illness to be kept secret. And it is a quiet, secure place, re
mote from any dangers, lying as it does just within the Flodden Wall.'

  'Dangers, Marie? Did he have reason to believe he was in danger?'

  'Nay. But since matters are now so harmonious between Her Grace and himself, he did warn her of a plot against her. Saying that she must beware of those persons who sought to make mischief between them, and that it had been suggested to him that he should take his wife's life,' she whispered, her eyes wide in horror.

  'Did he give any details of this plot?' Tam demanded sharply.

  'Not one. He refused to say more, on the excuse that even to think of such a vile and wicked deed made him feel faint and ill.'

  Such fineness of feeling did not quite equate with the Lord Darnley Tam had learned to know and distrust.

  The echo of bells continued, drifting across from the city.

  'This is Carnival Sunday,' Marie explained. A time for celebration, the last Her Grace can enjoy before Lent begins. There is to be a wedding at Holyrood. Bastian Pagez marries Christina Hogg, one of her Grace's favourite servants. After the ceremony there are various ambassadorial engagements which she has to attend, but nothing must interfere with her daily visits to Lord Darnley. We are due to return here at nine, when Her Grace would like you to be present to sing for us.'

  'Seton!' A servant appeared on the stairs from Darnley's room. 'Her Grace awaits you.'

  Marie curtsied, turned to go.

  'Marie!' said Tam, his voice urgent.

  'What is wrong?'

  'Does Her Grace sleep here tonight?'

  Marie nodded. 'That is the arrangement. Lord Darnley insists that she spends this last night here with him before they go to Holyrood.'

  The servant hovered impatiently.

  Tam watched her go. What could he say? How could he whisper a warning, details of a plot that he only suspected on the flimsiest of evidence?

  If it was all in his mind, wild imaginings, then he might find himself on the rack in the torture chamber of the Tolbooth.

  He had spent the day productively by making some careful notes and observations in the unhappy eventuality that he fell victim to whatever the coming night at Provost's House held in store.

  These he took wrapped around a package for Janet at Beaton House. She had not returned from her own vigil with her sick daughter.

  Retracing his steps to Dorothy's lodging, he resumed his watch at the window until darkness rendered the King's lodging invisible and, through the postern gate leading from Holyrood, a torch-lit procession bearing the Queen and her courtiers appeared.

  As he walked across the quadrangle to join them, the night was bitterly cold with yet more flurries of snow and the promise of worse weather to come.

  The sentry was accustomed to Tam now and he was directed to the salle. Already sounds of merriment issued forth from the long, narrow hall, its walls agleam in the radiance of torches and candlelight. The air was heavy with the smell of hot wax and the smoke of many candles as the courtiers waited, in attendance on the Queen and her nobles. Some of the ladies in brilliant costumes were already masked in readiness for the event of the evening, when they would return to Holyrood for Pagez's wedding masque.

  At one end of the room was a raised dais fringed in black velvet, but the Queen was not in evidence.

  Tam's arrival was expected, so he was ushered through the room and into an antechamber where Marie waited to take him up the stair, past the window where they had paused together earlier that day, and into the King's bedroom.

  Smiling a greeting, she whispered, 'Only a very few, the very privileged, are allowed into the King's bedroom. This way.'

  A torch-bearer led them through an anteroom hung with tapestries showing the rabbit catchers and called 'Hunting the Conies', where the royal commode stood in isolation. Upholstered in velvet, it was fitted with twin pans and surmounted by a yellow silk canopy with a red and yellow fringe.

  To Tam's startled and amused exclamation, Marie whispered, 'It once belonged to a cardinal - alas, he is no longer with us.' She opened the door into the King's bedroom.

  The atmosphere took Tam's breath away. A small, hot, stifling room in which, it seemed, the windows were seldom opened. It was well lit by candles in sconces in the walls.

  Sitting on velvet cushions, the very privileged - Bothwell, Huntly and Argyll - were playing dice at a table with a green velvet cloth. They were also in costume, masks laid aside, Bothwell splendid in the black velvet and satin doublet, trimmed with silver, Janet Beaton's gift.

  He looked surprised to see Tam and, beckoning him over, said cheerfully, 'Will you join us, Master Eildor, for a game?'

  'He will not, my Lord.' This from the Queen, who had watched Tam enter. She laughed. 'Master Eildor is required by the King.'

  Tam approached the bed where, on a high chair, upholstered to match the violet bed, the Queen was seated. She had drawn it close to the bedside, over the little Turkey carpet provided to keep Lord Darnley's feet warm when he left his bed.

  Tam saw that she was holding her husband's hand, talking to him softly. As he bowed low to them both, he could not see Darnley's expression, hidden by a taffeta mask, with holes for eyes and mouth to conceal the ravages of his disease.

  A wasted, pathetic sight, thought Tam, in sudden pity. I should not like to have the blood of such a one on my hands or on my conscience. And looking at the Queen, so happy-seeming, he could not in his heart bear to think that under that smiling exterior she was cold-bloodedly planning her husband's murder.

  'Master Eildor will sing for you, husband. Would you like that?' Her tone was caring and anxious.

  Darnley grunted a reply and she leaned forward to listen.

  'Some of the English ballads you brought with you from Yorkshire? That would be splendid,' she added, beckoning to a page who sat in the window with a lute. She rustled through some papers on the bedside table and said, 'Here are the words for you, Master Eildor. "My love hath my true heart". Nick here will accompany you,' she added, clapping her hands for silence.

  Tam sang as requested, was applauded. Sang again and received further applause, although there was little indication from the invalid slumped against his pillows of what he thought of the arrangement. Nor did he show the least interest in the merry little party of dice-players.

  At last Marie Seton leaned over to the Queen, trying to attract her attention.

  Darnley observed her, withdrew his hand from his wife's grasp and demanded, 'What is it you are whispering about, Seton?'

  Marie curtsied politely. With a swift glance in Bothwells direction, she said, 'I am but reminding Her Grace, sire, that she has promised to go to Bastian's wedding masque at Holyrood.'

  This brought an angry exclamation from Darnley. He leaned forward from his pillows, thumped his fists on the coverlet. 'This is intolerable, Madam,' he shouted at the Queen. 'I had your word that you would spend the night here. All has been made in preparation for you. Your room is in readiness.'

  'Do not distress yourself, husband,' said Mary softly. 'Remember that tomorrow ends your quarantine. From tomorrow we will no longer be parted, not even for one single night.' She smiled, pressing his hand.

  'Tomorrow, Madam - it is tonight that I am talking about. Tonight that is important to me. Not tomorrow,’ said Darnley, a desperate note in his querulous tone.

  Tam gazed anxiously at Bothwell, who, dice in hand, was listening intently to this very private conversation which all the room could hear.

  Tam noted that Bothwell was very still, watching Mary take a ring from her finger and put it into Darnley's hand.

  'This is my pledge,' she said softly. 'Until tomorrow.'

  Marie curtsied, the men bowed and all left the room, Tam following. Darnley, glaring at them, furious at being left, shouted, 'You - Eildor, stay a while. I would hear more of your songs. The same as before. Tonight I have a longing for my own land.'

  Tam bowed, singing two more ballads unaccompanied, when a servant arrived.

  'Sire, your thre
e great horses are in readiness for the morn.'

  'They will be there at five?' Darnley demanded.

  The servant, Taylor, bowed. 'As you have instructed. At five of the clock, saddled and ready.'

  Darnley slumped back against the pillows. 'You may leave us, Eildor. We wish to sleep.'

  Tam walked down the turnpike stair very thoughtfully, out through the gate leading across the quadrangle. He was trying to work out some logical reason why Darnley should require three great horses saddled and ready for departure hours before dawn.

  The indication was of a long pre-dawn journey to be undertaken at the start of what promised to be a bitterly cold February day.

  Preoccupied, he paid little attention to a figure in a long black cloak, the hood drawn well down, who stood hastily aside and melted into the shadows to let him pass.

  Dorothy Sinclair's lodging was in darkness. She had not returned from meeting her sister and, although there was no message, someone had thoughtfully left bread, cheese and a flask of wine.

  Tam was grateful. And he sat at the high window, hungrily consuming the food, but prudently taking only a sip or two of the wine. He longed to drink more, but, not having eaten all day, he needed his mind sharp on what lay ahead in the hours of darkness at the King's lodging.

  He leaned forward, frustrated at the scant illumination afforded by a shaft of moonlight that revealed little beyond swaying torches signalling late-night revellers near the house he had just left.

  But the late-night revellers were involved in a grimmer activity. A band of frustrated conspirators who realized that their plans had gone seriously wrong.

  The Queen's death was their target. The carefully made plan was that she should be safely abed and asleep in the room below the King. Then at five in the morning, when the town slept in darkness, he would depart in all secrecy with his great horses.

  That was the signal. Once he was through the postern gate, the gunpowder stored beneath the salle

  would be ignited, the house blown up, with the Queen still in her bed.

  Darnley would meanwhile be heading along the Glasgow road to meet his father, Lennox, chief of the conspirators, who had already left his home and would be heading towards Edinburgh to triumphantly crown his son King.